


Shackles

by StripedScribe



Series: Febuwhump2021 [16]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Broken Bones, Chains, Confusion, Dehydration, Gen, Injury, Kidnapping, Rescue, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29487657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripedScribe/pseuds/StripedScribe
Summary: Missing. A search dragging them through building after building, looking, hoping they would find their friend, not a body.Daredevil, held in chains, torture and abuse.Febuwhump Day 16 [Broken Bones]Bad Things Happen Bingo [Chained to a Wall]
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Matt Murdock & Peter Parker & Wade Wilson
Series: Febuwhump2021 [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136723
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Shackles

Unspoken words hung between them as they entered the thirtieth building of their search. Still not knowing if they were on the right track, if they would be successful. Weeks, months of looking, snippets of information in the wind, never feeling as though they were getting closer. Too long, feeling as though they were looking for a body now, instead of their friend.

Peter had started to ignore the people Wade killed in their search, if they couldn’t offer him information they were worthless to him, and he’d come close to just doing it himself. Frustrated, mourning, grieving, they broke through doors and windows, terrifying the people inside.

A well-practised mission, finding control rooms, turning the building upside down in search of prisoners, captives. Destroying all the information, taking the company down base by base. Only am extra result of their search, never the aim.

Empty. Another one just for research, full of terrified scientists, guards too slow to react. Destroying the computers, taking out their anger on tables and walls. Leaving, another tick on the pages long list of locations. Too well protected to get any info on them without breaking in, and they were long past the point of subtlety. They knew they were coming.

The next place they entered had more security, and their hearts lifted, just a little. There was something here, something they were protecting. A modern building, guards in matching black uniforms, stark against the white walls.

It was still easy work to get through them, guards webbed to the floor, researchers and office-workers locked in rooms. A steady prowl through the corridors, kicking doors open in search of their friend. Cells after cells empty, rooms set up for torture, dried blood on the floor.

Their hearts sank again as they reached the last room, empty. Returning to stalk down another corridor, more rooms, cells, labs. A room set up as an operating theatre, tools of torture and of healing laid out. In the next, storage, weapons they’d never seen before, dangerous chemicals. Guards stood outside which had quickly found themselves on the floor, too used to having nothing to look out for.

Deeper and deeper into the base, and the white walls gave way to cold brick. More guards rushed at them, but were soon taken out, some with webs, some with bullet wounds. It was like any game, with the fact the more enemies there were, the closer they were to their target. They could only hope it was what they were looking for.

A door at the end, not even locked, two final guards on duty in front of it. They managed to attack, to shoot their guns, easily dodged even as they were knocked to the floor by Wade. Pushing it open, a gun in hand, it was the worst and best thing he could have hoped to see, even as Peter followed him in.

“Shit, Matt. Okay, okay.”

“They’ll have keys on them, I’ll find them. Is he alive?”

Shackled to the wall, Matt hung from his wrists, his head resting on his chest. Wearing nothing but shorts and a vest once white, now stained pink and red. Blood had run from his wrists, a dried trail down his warped arms, bruises colouring his chest and body. His legs were clearly broken, misshapen, bruises showed where he’d once been shackled at the ankle as well. Peter didn’t know where to touch him, to check for a pulse, but watched his chest slowly rise a little in breath.

“He’s breathing, just.” His face and neck seemed untouched, and he reached up, jumping a little as Matt flinched. “It’s me Matt, it’s Peter, and Wade. We’ve got you.”

“No, no, no. I can’t, I can’t take it anymore. Don’t lie to me.” His head twitched, trying to lift up, but he was too weak. “No, no.” He continued to mutter, even as Peter looked over him to check injuries, lifting the vest to look at his chest. He was so pale, so skinny. Broken legs, suspected broken ribs. His arms pulled tight, his shoulders looked dislocated, his hands hanging limply from the shackles, fingers misshapen. Broken as well, perhaps healed by now, but healed wrong.

“You got a key or something there Wade?”

“Yeah, yeah they don’t make these things easy.” He walked back in with a tiny key in hand, reaching up to loosen the shackles at Matt’s wrists. Peter held onto Matt, noticing that even with that his breathing had quickened, in pain or in worry. “Okay, one down.” Hand hanging limply, more of Matt’s weight leant on Peter, breath moving into sighs, and then quickly into screams as his other hand was freed, Wade lowering it to his side.

“I know, I’m sorry Matt, I’m sorry.” He lowered him to the floor, laying him out, knowing they couldn’t move him like this, not with broken bones. “We need something to splint his legs, something to keep him warm.”

“I’ll go look, you stay with him Petey.” The screams had disappeared into moans, sucked in breaths of pain as he lay out on the floor. They’d have to set his legs, before they could move him, he knew that much. Try and keep him warm and stable, rush him to a hospital, try and save his life. The room was dull, dark and cold, and Peter tried to not look too much into the tools laying around. Blunt weapons, buckets, a tap for water. Headphones, with the solid brick walls, sensory deprivation. The evidence Matt had been in here for a while, by the healed hands previously broken, the bruises and blood from shackled wrists, the unmistakeable smell of urine and dirt. Tortured, held against his will on that wall. And for what, they wouldn’t know, wouldn’t have any clue until Matt could tell them. If he would ever want to tell them.

A clatter brought Wade back into the room, arms full of supplies. Splints, bandages, a thick blanket, all dropped to the floor. He wasn’t sure what to start with first, but straightening those legs should hopefully reduce a little pain.

“I got painkillers, but should he take them?”

“I don’t know. He’s so underweight, I don’t know.” If they gave him drugs, and were left dealing with an overdose on top of everything else. But the thought of putting him in more pain to get him out was worse. “Matt? You with us at all?”

“Ngh. Pete? You can’t be real.” His voice was tired and hoarse, from screaming, from dehydration. They needed to get him a drink, but he wasn’t sure if the water in here was drinkable.

“We’re real, it took too long, but we’re here. We’re going to get you home, okay? But we need to straighten your legs out, can we give you painkillers?”

“Just do it.” His whispered voice sounded so broken. In so much pain already, needing more pain to get safe, to get out.

The clicks and cracks of straightening his fractured legs were soon drowned by his screams, broken hands trying to curl into themselves, before he suddenly went limp and silent.

Peter leapt away from the splints, moving up to look at his face, expecting the worst, “Shit, Matt, Matt.”

“He’s just passed out, he’s okay. It’s probably better for him this way.” Wade made quick work tightening the splints, immobilising Matt’s legs straight, thankful they were all closed wounds. Bandaging around his wrists, and then they worked together to get him wrapped in the blanket, feet poking out, before being lifted up by Peter. Carried bridal style, out of the room, through the corridors and out of the building.

The journey to the hospital was a blur, and they didn’t even care for the fact they were in their suits, that Matt wasn’t, just ran into the emergency department, crying for help. Matt was whisked away from them, away from their sight, blocked from following him.

Of course they couldn’t follow, they were just strangers, two vigilantes rescuing a civilian. Even as Peter and Wade, they weren’t anyone important on paper, weren’t able to be with him.

They needed Foggy.

A phone call and a taxi later, they were changed and following Foggy back into the hospital, asking for information. He was stable, on fluids, in surprisingly good condition for the time he had been gone, for what they could only assumed had happened to him. The horrifying news that his hands may never be the same, healed wrong, the possibility of surgery in the future to re-break and re-heal them.

But for now, he was safe, he was home. They could see him, cluster around his bed and wait for him to wake up.


End file.
